


to come into conjunction

by seventhstar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Competing For Viktor's Hand, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Like Most Fairytales There Is A Quest, M/M, Romance, Russian Mythology, Unlike Most Fairytales The Prize Is Gay Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 16:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17267234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: You know that the sun rises each morning and sets each evening. But what you do not know is that a star precedes him before dawn and another one follows him after dusk. Long ago, when the world was newer, there were not two stars but one. Let me tell you the story of that star, and his lonely heart, and the hunter god that found it...[my contribution to Morning Sun, Moonless Night, a yuri!!! on ice fantasy zine.]





	to come into conjunction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roadhouss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roadhouss/gifts).



> this is, in my humble opinion, some of my best work. i really enjoyed putting together all the traditional elements of a fairytale to create something that was new; i hope it makes you as happy as it made me.
> 
> credit for the original premise goes to roadhouss, who i collaborated with; they drew a beautiful piece of art that accompanied the story.

There came a day when Viktor, the star of both the morning and the evening, grew tired of his endless duties: opening the door for the sun in the morning, and shutting it behind him at night, and keeping the hound of doomsday from escaping. It was too much, he said, for any one person to do alone. One evening he shut the door behind the sun, and when morning came, would not rouse himself to open it. The sun, Yuri, was furious. He railed, and screamed, and made every kind of threat, but Viktor would not be moved.

Yuri offered him an army of servants to do his bidding, but he refused.

“What I need,” Viktor said, “is a husband.”

“A husband! Where will you find a husband?”

“I am sure one is to be found somewhere,” Viktor said, and after some time the sun agreed.

They argued at length over what sort of husband Viktor ought to choose. The sun wanted a warrior and a hunter, fierce and strong, and the star wanted a lover and a companion, kind and sensitive. The sun grew weary of the argument, and of remaining in the palace while men up and down the country cried out for his return. Finally he conferred with the other sun deities, and one of them, the goddess Amaterasu, gave him the solution.

“We will host a competition,” Yuri proposed, “and you will have your choice of the winners.”

This idea pleased Viktor, and he went to the palace doors at once and let out the sun. While day and night returned to the world of men, Viktor made preparations for the trials he would set his suitors, which were to be held one week hence. One day became two, and two became three, and in that way the day of the trials came.

There were nine competitors who presented themselves at the palace gate when morning dawned (or rather, did not dawn, for the sun had agreed to forgo his duties to supervise the trials). They were princes and kings; they were heroes and knights; they were demigods and minor gods.

Now the competition was arranged such that the palace of the sun had been changed into a labyrinth, and within the labyrinth were three trials that had to be completed before the competitors could escape. The competitors were arranged at the entrance to the labyrinth, but as Yuri gave them the command to begin, there was an interruption: a small brown dog sprinted through the crowd.

“Catch him,” Viktor called, but it was too late. The competitors were of no use at all; some swore at the dog for its speed, and some tried to strike it with sword or arrows, and still others kicked at it as it passed, but none could catch the dog as it sprinted, terrified, into the labyrinth.

Yuri gave the command to begin in a burst of fire. As the competitors raced in, Viktor, who was very fond of dogs, turned away from them and went in search of the dog instead, lest it come to harm.

Now this was no ordinary dog. This was the hound of the god of hunters, Yuuri, great-grandson of Amaterasu, who on that very day had gone out hunting. That morning, his sister had woken him and bade him, at the request of their great-grandmother, to go and bring her back the first star of the evening.

“The first star of the evening?” he had asked. “Can such a creature be got with bow and arrow? You had better ask our parents.”

“No,” said she, “it must be you.”

“Surely our grandparents can fetch it for you.”

“No,” she said, “only you can.”

“”But surely our great-grandmother, Amaterasu, could be better aided by you yourself.”

“I tell you, only you can do it,” she said.

Who was Yuuri to refuse the wish of his sister? He had agreed to her demand, and off he went.

He called his hound to his heels and set out across the sea, bow and arrow in hand. On the left side of his belt he carried a slab of dried boar, which he sometimes ate; on his right side he carried the hide of a black stag. In search of game, he went west and east; he went south and north; he found himself in a strange land, where snow lay heavily on the ground and he knew neither the gods nor the men. Though he hunted deer and boar, though he was swift and silent, he began to despair. He was the youngest of the gods of his lands, and felt keenly that he ought not to fail at the first task ever set him. He searched high and low, but he saw nothing like the first star of the evening.

As the sun set, Yuuri counted the arrows in his quiver and found only three remained. He looked up at the sky in vain; though the sky was blackening, there was not a star to be seen.

“O Amaterasu,” he said. “Have I not been diligent and faithful? Did you not appoint me god of all the hunters in your lands? Why, then, have you set me an impossible quest?”

No sooner had these words passed his lips than his hound began to howl. Fleet as a deer, it ran into the dark woods and vanished.

Now Yuuri’s hound was very dear to him. He abandoned his hunt and gave chase without thought, following its shadow and its footprints deep into the forest, until he found himself before a shining palace made of crystal.

The palace’s doors were closing quickly, and Yuuri heard the yip of his hound from within and ran. He reached the doors an instant before they closed, and thrust his hand between them, lest his hound be lost forever.

“You’re late!” said a golden-haired youth, who shone like high noon. Though Yuuri did not know it, this was the sun king. “These doors will open again at dawn; you will have until then to find him.”

Yuuri thanked him for his consideration, and passed through the gap in the doors into the palace. No sooner had the doors slammed shut behind him than did Yuuri’s mouth fall open with amazement, for the inside of the palace was not a palace at all, but a vast and glorious expanse of space. There was light in all directions, in every color; there were stars that twinkled both brightly and dimly; clouds of stardust and swirling nebulae hung in the air, forming a labyrinth that extended before and behind, above and below, to his right and to his left.

Overwhelmed, Yuuri turned back to the gate to ask the golden-haired youth whose palace he had entered, but it was too late: the palace doors had disappeared.

At first, he was disheartened, for to find anything, let alone his hound, seemed impossible in such an enormous place; then he took heart.

“I will walk,” he said, “and be persistent, and surely I will come upon him eventually.”

So he did walk. He wandered through the labyrinth of stars, calling out his hound’s name, until he made a turn left, and then one right, and found himself facing the first task.

Viktor, the star of the evening, was at this moment concealed behind a cloud of stardust, watching. He was in despair; all day he had been walking about the labyrinth, appearing before each of the suitors in turn in all his finery to see if they were worthy of him. But though they coveted his beauty, and admired his light, and displayed for him all manner of strength and power, not one had completed all three tasks that had been set. Not one of them had touched his heart. And to add salt to his heart’s wounds, Viktor had not yet found the poor lost dog.

He had wept on the sun’s shoulder that he would never have a husband, and the sun grew fearful. Though Yuri had no cares for the turmoil in Viktor’s breast, he could not bear to be shut up in the house day and night, unable to perform his duties.

“There,” he said, “there is one suitor you have not seen,” and though the sun thought him plain and little, he did as Amaterasu had advised him to, and directed Viktor to the last of his suitors.

Now Viktor had grown cynical, and this time resolved to learn the suitor’s character before presenting himself properly. So he exchanged his divine raiment for the rough furs of the woodsmen who prayed to him, and when Yuuri stumbled upon the first task, he was there.

“What is this?” Yuuri asked. Before him was a cage, with a great firebird in it; chained to the bars of the cage was a snarling tiger, who stalked about the cage and snapped at thin air. “Vicchan?”

Upon hearing what he thought was his name, Viktor made himself known. His eyes met Yuuri’s eyes, and he was quite lost. Yuuri’s hair was the color of the night sky, his eyes were soft, and the bow and quiver slung over his shoulder shone as only a well loved weapon could. Viktor was overcome by him with only a look, and stood staring dumbly at him for some time. And in his admiration he was not interrupted, for Yuuri was no less moved. He had never seen such beauty or refinement in his life, and thought that Viktor, whose cheeks were blushed the color of sakura and whose eyes were like the sea in summer, might blind him if he looked at him too much.

“Forgive me,” Yuuri finally said, “but what is this place? Who are you?”

“I am Viktor, and this is the house of the sun and stars,” Viktor replied. “How is it that you came to be here without knowing?”

“I am looking for my dog, who is lost,” Yuuri said. “But now I am lost instead, and I must rely on your kindness. I am Yuuri.”

Now, though Viktor knew at once that the dog he sought must be Yuuri’s lost hound, he said nothing of it, for it was his desire to prolong Yuuri’s presence in his house, lest he leave without falling in love with Viktor. He explained to Yuuri that there were three tasks concealed within the labyrinth, and he would have to collect a prize from each one; should he complete the third task, the way out of the labyrinth would be open to him, and he could there exchange his spoils for what he sought.

“And what manner of prize is it?”

Viktor blushed. “It is the heart of a star,” he said, and though he could not know it, Yuuri thought he blushed out of admiration for some other person and grew jealous at once.

Now the first task was to obtain a feather from the firebird’s plumage. The tiger that guarded the cage of the firebird was as large as a bear, and ferociously hungry besides. This tiger was the attendant of the sun king; no competitor had yet been able to defeat it and approach the cage. Viktor had seen the tiger bite through swords forged by deities, and had seen the tiger maul tricksters who sought to sneak past it. The ground about it was stained with blood and littered with fragments of weapons; the tiger, teased and tormented, had grown ever more bloodthirsty with each subsequent suitor. He grew quite fearful for Yuuri’s safety.

“Perhaps,” Viktor said, “you ought to seek another way.”

But Yuuri, when the task was set before him, only smiled. “That is nothing,” he said, for it was his desire to impress Viktor with his skill. And from his belt he took a slab of dried meat from the boar he had killed before. He divided it into four portions: two were small, and one was larger than the two, and one was larger than the three. Then he held the smallest portion of meat before him until the tiger caught the scent. Slowly, Yuuri met the eyes of the tiger with his own, and bowed; then he set the first portion of meat before it.

The tiger devoured it. Yuuri bowed again, and walked backwards without stumbling; he laid a larger portion down so that when the tiger came to eat it, the chain was drawn taut as far as it would go.

The third and largest portion Yuuri set out of the tiger’s reach. Then he took aim with his bow and arrow. Now inwardly Yuuri trembled. He longed more than he ever had before for his aim to again be true, lest Viktor think him weak. As he drew back the bowstring, his hand shook with fear—and when the arrow was loosed, it flew wide, and fell harmlessly to the earth without so much as touching the target.

Yuuri begged his forgiveness, and his leave to try again.

“Oh,” Viktor said, “no, you must not—” for the tiger, temper inflamed by meat just out of reach, was snarling at him. “I would not have you hurt for my sake.” And he moved to pass the tiger himself, but it did not recognize him in his peasant garb, and swiped at him with its razor-sharp claws.

Yuuri saw the danger and was frightened beyond measure—for he did not know Viktor was a god, and thought that he might be in real danger—and put his second arrow to the string.

And with a single shot, he severed the chain that held the tiger in place. It lunged at him, and Viktor cried out a warning. But Yuuri bowed again, and the tiger ran past him in pursuit of the boar meat he had set aside. It set to devouring it; Yuuri approached the cage without fear.

He took up the fallen arrow, and impaled on it the remaining portion of meat. Then he opened the firebird’s cage, and waited. The firebird, hungry from its imprisonment, flew out and tore into the meat; in the empty cage behind it two burning red tail feathers remained.

And in that way, Yuuri obtained a feather from the firebird’s tail without any harm to himself. Then he collected the second feather, and presented it to an astonished Viktor.

“For your kindness,” he said sweetly, “I wish you luck on your quest.”

He shouldered his bow and was on his way again. He wandered, with Viktor following behind him concealed in the shadow of stars, with the feather tucked warm against his chest. Viktor could walk as silently as a ghost, but Yuuri’s skill was such that before long, he turned and caught him, and bade him walk freely at his side. There was much for them to speak of: they talked of dogs, which they both loved, and the sea, which they both missed; they discovered that Viktor favored the first snow of the season, and Yuuri the last. At Viktor’s side Yuuri quite forgot all his troubles. They went left and then right among the stars; they went right and then left through a field of asteroids; they climbed up a comet and then fell down, until they arrived at the place of the second task.

It was a field of flowers, but these were flowers unlike any Yuuri had seen before. At the edge of the field were the wildflowers Yuuri knew, but the further afield he looked, the more fantastic the flowers became: lilies with stardust sparkling on their petals, and roses in gold and silver and bronze, and sunflowers that glowed. In the center of the field was a great tree, and curled sleeping around the tree was a great dragon, with three heads. Smoke curled from its nostrils; poison dripped from its teeth.

Yuuri looked at the scorched earth around the edge of the field, and thought to himself that he would be wise not to act rashly. He drew his third arrow and touched it to the nearest flower. No sooner did the tip of the arrowhead brush the leaf of a rose, than did the dragon lift its head with lightning speed and spit a gout of blue fire at him.

The dragon’s swiftness was such that Yuuri was certain he would not escape unscathed, but at that moment Viktor, who had been watching that he might get Yuuri’s measure, threw himself over Yuuri’s body to shield him from the flames. The dragon knew his master, and spared him, and so both he and Yuuri escaped unharmed.

“You should take care,” Viktor said, as he set Yuuri on his feet, “for nine before you have tried and failed to complete the second task.”

“What is the task?”

“Only to retrieve flowers from the field, and make of them a crown—but the dragon will kill any man whose feet touch the earth there.”

“It is just as well that they have failed,” Yuuri said, “for if they were successful, the dragon would be killed and the field stripped. Surely whoever keeps this beautiful garden would hate to lose either of them.”

The garden was Viktor’s pride and joy, and at this praise he blushed, for not one of the other nine had had any thought for his feelings. He and Yuuri walked the circumference of the field, hand in hand, and finally Yuuri said that he was ready to attempt the task.

“For myself, I would not,” he lied, for his heart was quite set and anything Viktor wished he would have done, “but as you have assisted me again, I had better make you a crown so that you can continue on your way.”

All Viktor’s protests that Yuuri not endanger himself went unheard, for his desire to please was stronger than his instinct for self-preservation. From his belt, Yuuri took the hide of the stag he carried, and with his knife he scraped it clean. Then he cut the skin into strips, and from the strips he made a long black rope. This rope he tied to his third and final arrow; the arrow he fired into the tree; it struck deep into the trunk, and the free end of the rope Yuuri pressed into Viktor’s hands.

Though the rope was crude and narrow, and the danger great, Yuuri walked light and swift across it, until he reached a patch of fern flowers, which grew pink and blue, and were plainer than all the rest. These Viktor had planted only recently, for fern flower wreaths were exchanged at a betrothal, and it was his secret wish that he might be gifted them by a suitor. Yuuri cut away a bouquet of the flowers, taking care not to decimate any one plant. Then he cut some raskovnik, which was a magical herb that revealed itself only to those who were pure of heart. Though the dragon stirred, and fixed Yuuri with one beady eye, the flowers remained untrampled, and Yuuri returned to Viktor’s side unharmed.

They sat side by side in the black soil strewn at the garden’s edge, and wove their crowns of fern flower and raskovnik. Yuuri had never made a crown of flowers before, and so Viktor instructed him; he guided Yuuri’s fingers over the stems to wind them together with his soft, pale hands.

“Sometimes,” Yuuri said, “at night, when the moon is full, I go out to the shore and I dance.”

“Sometimes,” Viktor replied, and he tied a knot where Yuuri had done it poorly and let it come undone, “at night, when the sun sleeps, i come into the garden and rest.”

The crown Yuuri made was purple, and lopsided; the one Viktor made was blue and silver, with strands of his own shining hair used to tie the stalks together. The crowns were exchanged, placed on each other’s heads, and they sat and talked for a long while: of constellations, and birds, and all their dreams and hopes.

“It would be better,” Yuuri said, “if I had a partner, to keep time with the waves with me.”

“It would be better,” Viktor agreed, “if I had someone to tend the garden with, and lie beside.”

“I should like to learn to garden.”

“And I should like to learn to dance.”

Finally they remembered that there was yet a third task remaining. Turmoil burned in Yuuri’s breast, for he was yet aware that he was being tested by Amaterasu, and all his future might be upended if he disappointed her.

“O stuff of my life,” Viktor said, “what troubles you?”

“There are three things I wish to accomplish,” Yuuri said, “I set out to find my hound, but have not seen hide or hair or him; Amaterasu bade me to bring my sister the evening’s first star, but I never saw it; now you have said you wish for the heart of a star, and I cannot help but wish you would ask for my heart, instead.”

“If your dog has entered the labyrinth,” Viktor replied, “there is but one exit. If you seek the first star of the evening, it is at the end of this labyrinth that he may be found. But the way ahead is perilous; you have only to say the word, and I will show you a secret passage that will guide you to the end in an instant. Do not think for my sake you must complete the quest; I will forget it in an instant and come away with you, if you wish.” And these were not idle words, for Viktor really felt that Yuuri held all his happiness, and that it would be better to abandon the competition than it would be to allow any harm to come to Yuuri by Viktor’s design.

But Yuuri, once his course was set, did not waver, as befitting a hunter. Therefore Viktor told him to follow the bright blue star in the sky, and to leave behind all his weapons, and that he should walk until he came to a cave. Into the cave Yuuri would descend unarmed and alone, but for the prizes he had collected and a sprig of raskovnik, which Viktor kissed and placed in his mouth.

“This will unlock anything,” Viktor said, “take it, and all my love with it.”

If Yuuri survived, and could face all the terrors that were hidden within the cave, he would obtain the final prize. He and Viktor parted, with great sorrow on both sides, before Yuuri laid his bow, and his empty quiver, and his hunting knife in Viktor’s hands.

The blue star overhead led Yuuri true. He leapt from meteor to meteor, until finally he found a black hole lined with the debris of stars; and in the center, there was the cave that Viktor had described.

Into the dark heart of the cave he descended. From all sides, he heard voices: cries of pain and anguish from his sister and parents; the low moan of his dog in pain; the death throes of a felled stag; the terrible screams of the damned. He saw visions of all the things he feared: disapproval on Amaterasu’s face as she cast him out, and arrows that missed their mark, and packs of hounds that chased him instead of prey.

Yuuri ran; then he walked; then he crawled. Trembling with fear, he continued on, until the passage gave way and he tumbled onto the floor of the cave. There, there was a pool of clear water, and in the pool swam a great gleaming fish with silver scales. Written on the wall of the cave was this: THE HEART IS HIDDEN INSIDE.

He had no arrows or spear, to catch the fish, and so Yuuri had to kneel in perfect silence in freezing pool, until with one swift motion he plucked the fish from the water. He had no knife to slit the fish’s belly, and so Yuuri had to reach into its mouth. And from the mouth of the fish he pulled a chest made of diamond, which was locked; Yuuri touched it with the raskovnik, and it opened. Inside the chest was a rabbit, which leapt from its prison and fled; Yuuri took a flower from his crown, and held it outstretched until the rabbit was lured to him. The rabbit caught, Yuuri opened its mouth and out flew a cloud of moths. The moths flitted about the cave, until Yuuri laid down the burning feather of the phoenix; the moths were drawn in by the light, and when all of them were gathered, they danced for him and then turned into a perfect golden egg, with filigree in silver, with jewel-colored flowers adorning its surface.

Yuuri took the egg into his hands, and found that it was cold; the feather of the phoenix would not warm it, so he cradled it beneath his clothes, against his bare chest. It glowed, and shook, and throbbed in time with his heart. It opened like a flower; and from within the shell of the egg came a blinding light: nestled inside was a blazing star, which lit the cave as if it were day and made the surface of the pool into white fire.

The light of the heart within the egg banished all the torments of the passage, and Yuuri felt as though he had barely stepped into the passage to ascend before he was at the end. The cave, when he emerged from the mouth of it, did not take him where he had begun; instead he found himself in a hall.

It was a long and wide room, with a ceiling of stars and a floor of interlocked galaxies. At each end was a dais; to Yuuri’s right was the golden-haired king of the sun dressed in fiery red, and the nine suitors who had sought the hand of the star and failed. In the center of the room there were two dogs: the great hound of doomsday, and between its paws Yuuri’s faithful Vicchan. And to Yuuri’s left, atop the dais, was Viktor himself.

Yuuri did not recognize him at first. For Viktor, in the hope of Yuuri returning to him, had donned the regalia of his station to receive his beloved. He was wearing a robe that was midnight at his shoulders and faded to dusk as it fell to the floor. He glittered as did a moonless sky. But alongside the headdress he wore was the the crown that Yuuri had placed there, and when he smiled, the pure joy of it marked him at once as Yuuri’s own.

Kneeling before the dais, Yuuri presented to him Viktor’s own shining heart.

“O my life,” Yuuri said, “everything is just as you said it would be. But who are you? Surely you are no common hunter.”

“O my love,” Viktor said in reply, “I am the star of the evening and morning, whose heart you have in your hands; say you will accept my hand in marriage, for you alone have conquered the three tasks and earned it.”

“Me! But that cannot be so,” Yuuri said, and he looked at the nine suitors in their bejeweled armor, and himself in plain blue and gray. “For I did not slay a single beast, nor did I complete the tasks unaided. Surely I am not worthy.”

“You alone cared for me when you thought I had nothing to offer you,” Viktor replied, “you alone had compassion for my garden and my beasts—I beg you to accept my hand.”

To this entreaty, there was only one possible reply; they gathered crowns of roses to wear from Viktor’s garden, and as the festivals of spring began, were married at once. From that day on, it was Yuuri who rose at dawn to open the door for the sun to come out, and Viktor who shut it behind him when the sun returned at dusk; and Vicchan, Yuuri’s hound, entertained the hound of doomsday, so that it ceased trying to escape altogether. They tended Viktor’s flowers by day, and danced by night, so that there was no melancholy in the house of the sun and stars.

But before that, the land of man was made dark once again, as the two lovers, newlywed, traveled to the seaside where Yuuri’s sister dwelt. There, Yuuri presented his beloved to her, and they made her a present of fishhooks and pearls, to thank her for bringing them together.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are appreciated! school starts tomorrow in earnest, so i might not be as prolific as usual; however, you can look forward to regency au mondays for the next few weeks. and it is also my birthday on the 28th, so hopefully i will do something then!


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